


Snakebite

by perdiccas



Category: Justified
Genre: Bittersweet, Complicated Friendships, Gen, Misunderstandings, Poison, Post Season/Series 04, Sabotage, Snakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with faith is how often what you think you know turns out to be wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snakebite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Afiakate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afiakate/gifts).



> For the prompts: Tim gets tangled up with the snake handling church, office politics and Marshals doing Marshal things.

“Shouldn’t she be WITSEC’s problem by now?” Rachel asks irritably. They’ve been shorthanded since Raylan finally deigned to let Art suspend him. Even now, every time they think they’re done wading through the mess the Drew Thompson arrest left in its wake, AUSA Vasquez is there to let them know the bullshit never ends.

Case in point: “Nicky Augustine is dead. Theo is in retirement. We’re the last people involved in this who care what happens to Drew Thompson. Long story short, if no one’s trying kill her,” Vasquez informs them, “WITSEC doesn’t want her.”

Art shuffles a stack of papers into a manila folder and slaps it down on his desk. “There you have it,” he says with finality, “time to cut Ellen May loose before our entire budget goes toward paying off her Pay-Per-View tab.”

He makes a shooing motion but it’s obvious this discussion isn’t over yet. Instead of standing to go, Tim slouches deeper into his seat, stretching his legs in the narrow space of carpet between where he’s sitting and Art’s desk. He ignores the exasperated look that garners him.

“What about the case against Ava Crowder?” Rachel insists. “Isn’t Ellen May your star witness?” 

Vasquez hesitates before replying. Tim sits a little straighter again, his interest piqued. He hadn’t bought into the rumours the Crowder case was falling through – caught red-handed moving a body seemed as sure a thing as Tim as could imagine - but the uncomfortable, constipated look on Vasquez’s face is making him reconsider. 

“She is,” Vasquez confirms, “but...” he trails off for a moment and clears his throat, finally finishing through gritted teeth, “she’s also the star witness for the defence.”

Art fills them in on the details. “Ellen May had a lot to say about Delroy, like how before Ava shot him, he killed another one of the girls from Audrey’s in cold blood. And how if it weren’t for her intervention he would’ve done Ellen May just the same.”

“Self defence for the murder,” Tim surmises, “but they never reported it. That’s gotta get her more than a slap on the wrist.”

Vasquez shakes his head glumly. “This whole thing with Drew Thompson being under our noses, wearing a sheriff’s badge all this time... That makes us look like assholes–”

“I’ll say...” Rachel mutters, not quite under her breath. Art’s face pinches as he suppresses a grin; Tim isn’t as successful. 

Vasquez frowns at her but carries on. “The defence is going to spin it that with corruption running that deep in the local law enforcement, the Crowder’s had a reasonable fear of being railroaded if they came forward, so they didn’t. When Delroy’s body got found after all this time, they just panicked.” 

“And you think that’ll work?” Tim asks. He doesn’t pretend to know much about what goes on in the courtroom but that seems weak, even to him.

“You’d be surprised.” There’s a twang of begrudging respect in Art’s voice. “An ex-battered wife standing up to a drugged up pimp with at least two dead bodies to his name, and a hooker who found Jesus? Juries love that kind of shit. Has a _Pretty Woman_ vibe to it that’s better than Maury.”

Vasquez looks thoroughly defeated. Tim can’t think of anything to say to make him feel better. Maybe they should let him be the one to tell Raylan Boyd wriggled out of their grip again: the promise of seeing Raylan’s face might give the man something to live for at least. 

“Hooking doesn’t leave you a lot of transferable skills,” Rachel says, breaking the thoughtful silence that had fallen over them. “The People may take a shine to her on the stand but a resume from Audrey’s isn’t going to get her far.”

“You’re Marshals, not Social Services. As long as she shows up to trial, your job is done.”

“And if she shows up high on Oxy, all the better for your case?” Rachel doesn’t sound angry, just depressingly resigned. Vasquez doesn’t try to contradict her.

Suddenly Art’s office feels claustrophobic. Tim stands. They can sit here squabbling amongst themselves but it won’t change a thing. “I’ll go let Ellen May know.” 

They must have spent longer cooped up in there than Tim realized because the sun is unexpectedly low in the sky. He shuts down his computer and tidies up his desk for the night. If he’s going to play the role of bad cop today, he may as well go straight home when he’s done. 

Just as he’s about to head out, Art calls, “Tim,” and gestures him back to where he’s leaning against the doorjamb. “Take this,” he says gruffly, handing over an unmarked envelope with an assorted stack of bills inside. 

Tim has never given much thought to who in the office knew Ellen May in the capacity of her former profession, and out of respect, he tries not to now. She might not be the brightest witness they’ve ever brought in, but she has a desperate, earnest charm about her that makes her easy to like. Sorting out who dug deep into their pockets out of pity and who was motivated by a lingering sense of guilt isn’t high on Tim’s to do list. 

“You do know I’m an officer of the court?” Vasquez asks dryly, coming to stand beside Art. “I appreciate the sentiment but believe it or not the government frowns upon paying off material witnesses...”

Art rolls his eyes. He looks between Vasquez and Tim before declaring, “Just tell her it’s from Shelby. To help her get back on her feet.”

Vasquez opens his mouth but shuts it without saying anything. He retreats back into Art’s office. Art lets out a sigh before he follows, shutting the door behind them. 

Rachel catches up to Tim as he’s waiting for the elevator. She hands him five ten dollar bills. Tim raises his eyebrows. “Feeling generous?” he asks, neutrally.

She shakes her head imperceptibly. “No, but Raylan is. He keeps a couple of bills taped under his desk drawer in case of emergency.”

Tim grins. “And yet when it’s his turn to bring in coffee, suddenly he’s broke?”

The bell dings for the arrival of elevator and Tim slides Raylan’s ‘donation’ in with the rest.

\--

Ellen May takes the news with the same unquestioning trust Tim has come to expect from her. He stands aside as she flits about the motel room packing up her meagre belongings. She keeps up a stream of mindless chatter while in the background, an old black and white movie plays on the TV. 

“Anywhere in particular you’d like me to drop you off?” Tim asks, once they’re situated in his car. He’s braced for her to say Audrey’s and the uncomfortable conversation that would ensue but she surprises him instead. 

“Cassie St. Cyr’s,” she says firmly. She seems as taken aback as Tim is by the conviction in her voice and flushes, following up with a faltering, “I mean, if that’s okay. It’s out in the woods, you know...?”

“I know,” Tim says easily as she trails off. Ellen May nods, once. She twists her hands nervously in her lap and neither of them mentions Colt. Tim turns on the radio, tuning it to some country-western easy listening station that unobtrusively fills the silence hanging between them. “The church, it’s a good choice,” he says quietly, keeping his eyes on the road when he does.

Ellen May doesn’t reply but when he glances at her, out of the corner of his eye, Tim can see she’s smiling. 

\--

“Do you know that man?” Tim asks as they pull up to the church. Ellen May shakes her head, unbuckling her seatbelt. Reflexively, Tim puts his hand on her shoulder, stopping her from exiting the car. Unlike every other time Tim’s been to the church though, it doesn’t appear to be anything he needs to break up. 

They sit in the car for a few moments, watching. Cassie and the man look over to them but neither seems concerned with their arrival. They walk over just in time to hear the man take his leave, handing Cassie a packet of papers before he goes. “Evening, Deputy,” he says civilly, nodding at Tim as he passes them on the way back to his car. Tim nods back, taking in the man’s crisp suit, noting how out of place he looks this deep in the depths of the holler. 

“Ellen May,” Cassie says warmly. In a sudden flurry of motion, Ellen May flies toward her and hugs her tight. Tim looks away.

Without any parishioners or furniture, the church is just an empty tent, shading them from the weak rays of the setting sun. Off to the side, there’s an open crate, half packed with hymn books. Tim idly wonders what happened to the pew stained with Colt’s blood.

“Okay?” Tim asks, gesturing, trying to encompass everything from the closed down church to the departing man to Ellen May.

Cassie shrugs. “I think so,” she says but Ellen May draws back, folding her arms around herself. “I’m sorry, Ellen May,” Cassie continues. “It’s not that there’s no place for you here, but this just isn’t the place for me either anymore.”

Maybe Tim shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow, he still is. “You’re leaving?” 

“Just as soon as I can break this all down.” Cassie nods and tilts her head at what remains of the campsite. “Billy used to...” She doesn’t finish, offering them a small, bittersweet smile instead. 

“Where will you go?” Ellen May asks, furiously wiping the tears from her eyes. 

Cassie stares into the horizon, her eyes narrowed against the growing darkness. “We never planned our route. Billy used to say the Lord would call to us to stop when we reached a place where we needed.” She looks at Tim and adds ruefully, “Luckily that always seemed to coincide with when we were low on gas.” She pulls her coat tighter around herself. “But I think... I think it’s time I let Jesus lead the way again. It’s what Billy would have wanted.”

“What if...” Ellen May starts, hesitatingly at first but finishing in a rush, “What if you took me with you, Cassie? God has put us through so much together already, maybe—”

Tim doesn’t know how Cassie will respond. It doesn’t matter either way. “No,” he cuts in firmly. And then more gently, “I’m sorry but you’ve got to stay close by, remember? For Ava’s trial.”

Ellen May looks at him, miserable but resigned. 

“Come on,” he says, suddenly impatient. He’s angry at how easily Ellen May is falling between the cracks of the system. Angry that he has to witness it. Angry at how much he finds himself caring. “There’s a place in Lexington I can take you.”

He waits by the car while Cassie and Ellen May say their goodbyes.

\--

It’s dark by the time they reach the women’s shelter. Tim turns off the car’s engine but neither of them moves to get out. 

“You won’t tell Shelby, will you?” Ellen May asks finally. 

It’s not what Tim expects to be weighing on her mind. “I don’t suppose I’ll have reason to speak with him any time soon,” he tells her truthfully. “And if I did, I’m not sure I’d have anything to say but that you’ve kept your head high.”

She gives him a watery smile and a nervous laugh. “It’s just that... If Cassie had said yes, I’d have gone with her, you know? I didn’t even stop to think... how could I come visit him, from so far away?”

Tim doesn’t have the heart to tell her how slim the chances of Shelby being granted visitors truly is so instead he says, “I reckon a letter would get to him just as fast no matter how far you’d gone.”

She mulls his words over for a few moments, and slowly nods her head. “I ain’t one much for writing,” she confesses, “but maybe I could try. If you think Shelby would like that?”

“I do. And listen, Ellen May. There’s this, from Shelby. It ain’t much but it’ll keep you going for a while...”

Ellen May clutches the envelope tightly in her hands. She opens her mouth, seemingly about to say something but a sharp rap on the window makes them both jump.

Tim’s hand flies to his gun. He stops himself short of drawing when he sees the tired but concerned looking women peering at them through the glass. He flicks on the over head light and rolls down the window.

“Deputy Gutterson?” she asks, warily.

“Yes?” 

“Oh thank goodness, I wasn’t sure...” She looks at Ellen May carefully, and for the first time, Tim’s conscious of how they must have looked sitting in the dark. The woman shakes herself out of it and continues, “Your colleague, Deputy Brooks, called earlier. She said you might be coming by. We have a strict 9pm curfew but I stayed a little later just in case... Come inside, hon,” she says, addressing Ellen May, “we’ve got a bed made up for you.”

\--

Tim doesn’t stay long at the shelter. He makes a mental note to thank Rachel in the morning for arranging a place for Ellen May. From the five minutes that he was there, he’s caught a glimpse of a side of the job Rachel shoulders and he’s hardly ever asked to do. He wonders if she’s numb to it by now or if it lingers with her; he can’t help but feel doing sniper duty when called for is the easier task.

In the car, he’s restless. It’s been a long day and he probably just needs to grab some sleep but visiting the shelter has his thoughts circling back around to the unknown man he’d seen at the church grounds earlier, at the isolation of the location now that the congregation has moved on. Cassie has a gun and she knows how to use it but Tim knows better than most that doesn’t guarantee her safety. 

He turns the car around, heading back to Harlan before he can second guess himself.

\--

In the clearing, there’s a campfire burning low. Cassie’s rifle is propped against the trunk of a tree, easily within her reach as she struggles to take down the canvas canopy that forms the walls and roof of the church by herself.

She greets Tim with a worried expression on her face. “Something wrong with Ellen May?” she asks.

“No,” Tim assures her. “She’s settled in, down in Lexington.” Tim carefully surveys their surroundings but there’s no sign of the man from earlier. “I just thought maybe you’d need a hand with all this stuff.”

Cassie studies him for a moment but apparently decides to take his words at face value. “It would be easier,” she concedes. 

It’s hard, sweaty work, even between the two of them and Tim’s impressed Cassie managed to do as much as she has on her own. Once they get the rest of the canvas down and untied from the wooden frame that kept it standing, they roll it up. The sausage of fabric gets heavier and heavier the closer they get to being done. Tim grunts with the exertion and Cassie smiles, tossing him a bottle of water while they take a break. 

Tim takes a long swig. He pushes his hair back from his forehead and lets the night air cool him down. “Anyone been around bothering you?” he asks, keeping his words as nonchalant as possible.

“No,” Cassie shakes her head. “Not since you...” She stumbles over her words, settling for, “Not since Boyd’s man was killed. Is that why you’re here?” she asks, gesturing to Tim to throw the water bottle back to her. She takes a drink herself, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand when she’s done. “I wish I could help,” she says bitterly. “But I don’t know anything you could pin on him, if that’s what you’re after. I wish to God I did.”

She stands again and Tim follows suit. They finish rolling up the canvas in silence.

It takes the two of them to lift it once they’re done. They stagger drunkenly under its weight, Cassie taking point as they heave the thing onto the bed of her pickup truck. 

Cassie steps back, touching Tim briefly on the arm in thanks. And it’s only now that he has an unobstructed view of the truck that he sees the casket snuggled in parallel beside the tent.

His eyes goes wide and he looks at Cassie curiously, “Is that...?”

She nods sadly. “Even after the coroner ruled Billy’s death an _accident_ , it took a long while before they're release his body. And even then,” she tells Tim, “the funeral home wanted paying before he could be buried.”

She tilts her head and tells him plainly, “Living in the woods don’t make folk too inclined to extend you a line of credit. It was cash on delivery and well, it took a while to get that kind of sum together.”

Tim lets out a harsh breath. The well dressed man in the dark suit, so out of place in the dusty holler, suddenly makes sense. His jovial smile is macabre in retrospect when Tim thinks of him holding Billy’s corpse hostage for a fee.

“Someone at the coroner’s office should have told you,” he says, quietly angry, “the county will bury anyone who can’t afford to pay.”

“I’d like to visit my brother’s grave one day,” she tells him bluntly. “I won’t leave him to rot in Harlan.”

She turns away and Tim follows a few steps behind, leaving her some space with her thoughts. She picks up a large stick and pokes the fire, teasing the flames warmer again. 

“I appreciate you coming out here,” she says, her voice dull, edged with grief, “but there’s worse in these woods than Boyd Crowder’s men.” She points at the weeds at the edge of the clearing. “You brush against those leaves and you’ll get a rash that burns so bad, I’ve heard of men who scratch their skin clean off.” She walks a little way between the trees in the opposite direction, and kicks over a rotting branch amidst the grass. “There are toadstools growing here that can lay a man up for a week. And there’s killing kinds not far either, if you know where to look.

“Boyd Crowder killed my brother but it was Billy’s faith that made it easy. He refused to believe there were men incapable of being saved.”

She turns to Tim and assures him, “I don’t harbour under the same illusion.”

\--

Tim passes a sleepless night. Instead of setting his mind at ease, finding out the identity of the man in the woods has left him with another, deeper set of worries. It’s out of his way, and Art will yell at him for being late, but instead of going to the office, Tim grabs two cups of coffee and heads back into Harlan.

When he reaches the clearing in the woods, there’s nothing - and no one - there.

He gets out of the car, drinking the coffee he’d brought for Cassie; it’s still too hot and burns his lips. He walks around the empty space, tracing along the tire tracks Cassie’s pickup and the silver trailer left behind. She must have continued working after he left, finished packing up and lit out of there as soon as dawn broke. Along with a mouthful of scalding coffee, Tim swallows down the hollow throb of disappointment that accompanies that thought. He’s about to leave when he sees something among the weeds, reflecting in the sunlight.

Remembering what Cassie had warned him about the plants, he pulls the sleeve of his jacket over his hand and carefully reaches in among the leaves, pulling out what looks like a large tool case. Holding it up to examine it closer, he hears the agitated rattle of snakes inside.

In his hands, the metal is warm already. He can only guess how hot it would have become once noon rolled around. He imagines the snakes slithering in a frenzy, unable to get away from the burning heat surrounding them, and he wonders what it would take for Cassie to leave them to that fate. A wave of uneasiness rolls over him.

He takes out his cell phone, calling the number they have on file for her but a mechanical voice tells him it’s been disconnected. 

As he speeds back to Lexington, the box of snakes rides shotgun beside him.

\--

At the office, Tim is greeted by a tense silence. He makes a bee line for Rachel, ignoring the stink eye she gives him when he props the dirty metal case against a corner of her desk. “What’s going on?” 

“Ava Crowder was just released on bail, exactly like Vasquez predicted.”

“Well, shit,” he mutters. “Art around?”

Rachel inclines her head in the direction of Art’s closed door. Now that he’s paying attention, Tim can hear the muffled sound of raised voices. It sounds like Art and Vasquez will be in there for a while. He’s distracted, thinking about the Crowders and Cassie, and he doesn’t notice Rachel leaning over, popping the clasp on the case. “What’s with the lunch box?” she asks.

Tim slams his hand down instinctively. He presses on the lid as she tries to lift it up. Their mutual efforts cancel each other out and the lid hangs open by about an inch. Inside, the snakes slither lethargically over each other, their dry skin rustling as they move. One of the snakes raises its head. Its tongue flickers out to taste the air.

Rachel freezes.

Without saying anything, she carefully eases her hand away. As soon as she’s clear, Tim snaps the case shut again. It rocks under his hands as the aggravated snake launches itself their way, stopped short when it collides with the closed lid. The angry rattle of its tail echoes inside the case. 

Rachel exhales a deep breath.

“Okay,” she says slowly, her eyes narrowed as she regards him critically. “You want to explain?”

“I think Cassie St. Cyr is in trouble,” he tells her. There’s a minor commotion at the front of the office, people getting up and walking into the hall but Tim ignores it.

Rachel looks surprised. “Because she gave you some snakes?” 

“No, the church has been taken down.” He doesn’t mention he helped Cassie with that. “She’s gone. She left the snakes behind.”

Rachel sits up straighter, more alert. “Any sign of a struggle? You think someone forced her out of town?”

Tim frowns. “No, she said she was going. She wanted to move on, away from Harlan.” 

He doesn’t need the sceptical look on Rachel’s face to tell him that he isn’t making sense. He shakes his head. “Something about this isn’t right,” he insists.

Suddenly, Art storms out of his office. Whatever counter-argument Rachel was about to make, she drops it. 

“Do either of you want to tell me why I just got a phone call from the women’s restroom? I’ll tell you why, it’s because half the support staff is hiding in there and they refuse to come out until I do something about the rattlesnakes.”

Tim opens his mouth but Art cuts him off in furious exasperation, “No. Listen up, while you two are out here playing bring your pet to work day, I’m in there trying to make sure we all still have a job in the morning. DC is not happy with how this whole clusterfuck has shaken out.”

He turns around sharply and stalks away from them, yelling in his wake, “Make yourselves useful and go bag a fugitive. Lord knows we need the win.”

When the door is shut firmly behind him, Rachel says, “Come on, I’m driving.”

\--

Tim calls in an APB on Cassie’s truck. Rachel has the decency not to comment.

He’s already regretting not taking his own vehicle. If they’re going to be exiled from the office, they may as well split up. Cover more ground. “What now?” he asks.

“First, we get rid of those snakes.” 

Tim has a vague notion Rachel might be dropping him off at animal control but they’re on the wrong side of Lexington for that. Instead, they pull up outside a mom-and-pop pet store. He’s surprised to see Ellen May in the window, sitting cross legged amongst the puppies, fastidiously brushing their fur. He grabs the snakes from the backseat. 

“The shelter sets the women who stay there up with jobs as soon as they can,” Rachel explains. "This place has helped a lot of women over the years."

A bell chimes above their heads when they push through the front door and Ellen May looks up, breaking into a wary smile. 

“Hey,” Tim says, reaching over to lend her a hand as she climbs clumsily out of the puppy pen. 

“Can I help you?”

Tim turns at the suspicious voice, coming face to face with a tall, wiry man. He gives Tim the same wary once over he received at the women’s shelter before his credentials were established. Maybe he should be offended by it but he feels strangely at home in this world of constant vigilance. 

“Mr. Davidson?” Rachel says, smoothly taking charge of the situation. She flashes her badge and Tim follows suit. “We were hoping you could help us out with some snakes.”

“Why would the Marshals service need snakes?” Davidson asks, momentarily flummoxed.

“We don’t,” Rachel says. Tim holds up the metal carrying case and adds, “We’re hoping you’d take these off our hands.”

They watch as Davidson sets up a clear glass tank and deftly lifts the first snake out of the carrying case and transfers it over. It’s only when the second one thrashes dramatically, protesting at its handling, and Ellen May lets out a small startled gasp, that Tim recalls she’d witnessed Billy die in circumstances not too dissimilar. He takes her gently by the arm and turns them both so that they’re facing the pen of puppies instead.

“Those are Billy’s snakes, aren’t they?” she asks him. Her bottom lip wobbles but she’s otherwise composed. Tim can’t see a point in lying. 

“Cassie left them behind at the church. I went over there this morning and she’d cleared out already.”

Ellen May frowns, seemingly troubled. “I know she was packing up and all,” she says, “but I don’t think she was planning to leave quite so soon until I told her what you said, you know, about Ava’s trial going so well, they don’t hardly need me for a witness anymore.”

“That’s not true,” Tim says, kicking himself internally for screwing up somehow when he told her what was going on. “Your testimony is very important. Ava’s case is going so well _because_ of what you told the AUSA.”

She smiles at him bashfully, but Tim gets the feeling being told twice doesn’t make her any closer to believing what he has to say. 

“We’re going to leave the snakes here, okay?” he adds. She nods.

Tim and Rachel thank Davidson for his time and head back out, loitering on the sidewalk while they decide where to go next.

“Anything from Ellen May?” Rachel asks.

Tim tilts his head back, squinting into the sun as he talks, “Only that I’m terrible at communicating with witnesses regarding the status of the cases they’re involved in.” He flashes Rachel a self-deprecating smile. And then adds more soberly, “Cassie knew Ava was getting off.”

“After what happened to her brother,” Rachel says, coolly, “I can’t see her taking that too well. Maybe she took off before the Crowders could drop in and rub it in her face?”

“Or they ran her off before she could talk Ellen May into recanting and destroying their case.”

Rachel turns her head slightly. She’s wearing reflective sunglasses that make it impossible to see her eyes but Tim’s been on enough stakeouts with her to know she’s studying Ellen May through the pet store window. 

Eventually she says, “Ellen May took to religion pretty hard. What’s the chances Cassie could get her to do anything but turn the other cheek?”

Tim shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, “and I bet the Crowders didn’t either. After that debacle with Delroy’s body though, I reckon the last thing they wanted was another unaccounted for loose end. Besides, Ellen May was all mixed up, thought she wasn’t important to the case either way—”

Rachel snorts. Tim smiles humourlessly. His communication skills might not be the greatest, but they both know the defining factor in Ellen May’s misapprehension was the way the US government decided she wasn’t useful enough to actively keep her safe anymore. 

Rachel continues Tim’s abandoned train of thought: “—if Ellen May thought it didn’t matter, who’s to say what Cassie could have convinced her to say on the stand.”

They’re interrupted when Tim’s phone rings. Art doesn’t bother with a greeting. “Please tell me you two chuckleheads didn’t cruise by Audrey’s when I kicked you out of here?”

“No,” Tim assures him. “We just left the pet store, down town. Getting rid of the snakes,” he adds hastily, “not picking up more.”

“Thank god for that at least,” Art mutters. He sounds genuinely relieved. “There’s been some kind of poisoning. Contaminated water maybe, nobody’s sure yet. It’s nothing fatal, but people are puking all over the place. You’d better get down there and help out.”

“Where are the emergency services?” Tim asks. They’d have to go to Audrey’s regardless, to see if they could squeeze any information out of Boyd but that doesn’t mean Tim relishes the prospect of wading through an ocean of hillbilly vomit to for the privilege. 

“Apparently most of the sheriff’s office has already been admitted to the clinic,” Art tells him with a long suffering sigh. “Boyd decided to celebrate Ava’s release with a two for one special on beer, and apparently some offers are just too good to refuse.”

Tim can’t say he’s really surprised.

\--

Rachel has her window rolled down as they drive. On the approach to Audrey’s the smell becomes almost unbearable. Tim had been inclined to think Art was exaggerating but taking in the scene now, it’s clear that’s not the case. He and Rachel pick their way carefully through puddles of sick, flagging down the health inspector when they see her.

“You two in charge?” she asks with brisk efficiency. 

“Guess so,” Tim replies unenthusiastically. “What are we dealing with?”

“A fungal contaminant in the beer. Come with me.”

They follow her around to the back of the bar. Rachel asks, “How does this kind of thing happen? Beer improperly brewed?” 

The health inspector shakes her head, “It could be but not in this case. Look here,” she points at a keg of beer. They crouch down to look closer. The seal has clearly been tampered with. “Someone did this deliberately.”

Tim stands again, his hands shoved deep in his jeans pockets and he rocks back on his heels thinking of the mushrooms Cassie had pointed out the night before. 

“Anyone badly hurt?” 

The health inspector thinks about it for a moment and shakes her head. “It’s not fun, that’s for sure but it’s about as bad as a bad case of stomach flu. No one’s going to die, if that’s what you’re asking me.”

Tim sucks in a grateful breath letting it out through clenched teeth; he has to be sure. “You think someone was aiming to kill someone?”

“Kill the business, more likely,” she says dismissively, squirting a dollop of hand sanitizer onto her palms and rubbing them together. “Anyone who knows enough about fungi to do this knows it isn’t fatal. All it’s gonna do is make folks a lot less likely to come here for a drink.”

“At least they still have the prostitutes going for them,” Rachel says dryly. “Or maybe not...” she amends at the sight of – Vixen? Dancer? Cupid...? Tim’s sure she’s named after one of Santa’s reindeer – stumbling out of her trailer to hurl her guts out.

They get a follow up call from Art. With most of Audrey’s regulars being admitted to the ER, the hospital has found itself flush with bail jumpers and parole violators. They don’t even bother with a round of rock-paper-scissors; after what happened this morning, it’s clear who’s going to be spending the afternoon wading through vomit and who isn’t, even if it does mean Rachel has to relinquish her car keys to Tim. She hitches a ride on the next ambulance to leave.

\--

It’s late by the time the situation at Audrey’s is resolved. Tim’s phone buzzes, informing him of a hit on the APB. 

\--

At a small diner, one town over, Tim dismisses the state troopers waiting in the parking lot. 

When he sits down in the booth opposite Cassie, she smiles apprehensively but doesn’t look shocked to see him. Tim waits while a bored waitress pours him a cup of a coffee.

“I was...” he starts, not sure how to articulate what he wants to say. He settles for, “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Cassie frowns in confusion, her eyebrows pinched together. She cradles her coffee cup in her hands and swirls it nervously, watching the dregs swill rather than looking directly at him. “Oh?”

“A lot of people who were at Audrey’s are sick,” he says, not willing to go through the pretense of explaining further. She blinks once, then steadily meets his eyes. It's clear a confession isn’t going to be forthcoming. “I found your snakes.”

At that at least, Cassie flushes, tapping her fingers nervously on the table top. 

“You don’t need to worry,” he drawls sarcastically. “Ellen May’s working at a pet store now. She took them in.”

Cassie lets out a slow breath, slumping a little in her seat. “Maybe that’s for the best,” she says softly, striking Tim with the unexpectedly genuine note of regret in her voice. “Ellen May is a strong girl. More like Billy than I could ever be.” 

She looks out of the window, at the streetlights and the parking lot, and when she speaks again, it’s with a distant, thoughtful quality to her words. “That night you saved our lives, Ava told Ellen May she could never wash her sins away. She held a gun to her head, almost pulled the trigger too. Do you know what Ellen May said to her?”

She looks at Tim expectantly. He shakes his head.

Cassie laughs: a dull, defeated sound. “She forgave her.”

She laughs again and mirrors Tim in shaking her head. There’s disappointment there but if it’s at Ellen May for such an act or at herself for being unable to do the same, he isn’t sure.

“We saw a lot of people, my brother and I, coming through the church, looking for salvation. Billy made it sound so simple. ‘Open your heart to God,’ he’d say but it’s not easy. I thought with Ava behind bars, maybe Boyd would feel a fraction of what I felt when he took Billy from me. An eye for an eye,” she says flatly, “a tooth for a tooth, that’s in the Bible too.

“But when I heard they were more than likely going to let her out...

“I can’t forgive this place,” she says finally, drawing herself up and sitting straighter. “I can’t forgive Harlan and I can’t forgive the Crowders. I can’t forgive those _goddamned_ snakes.” 

Cassie pulls her coat around herself like a suit of armour. She throws a couple of bills on the table for her meal and stands, lifting her chin defiantly, as if daring Tim to detain her. He doesn’t bother. It isn't just that there were no prints at the scene, and the fact that if moving a body can’t get a conviction, a conversation about a mushroom probably wouldn’t even be admissible in court; a world where Boyd Crowder gets more justice than he’s forced to face isn’t one Tim is willing to facilitate.

“What now?” he asks.

She thinks for a moment, as if that’s not a decision she expected would still be hers to make. “I’ll move on. Give my brother a proper burial and let him find his peace.” She pushes a strand of hair awkwardly behind her ear, and adds less confidently, “Keep going until I find a way to find mine too.

“Look out for Ellen May,” she says before she leaves, “her faith’s a better remembrance for Billy than I could ever be.”

Tim stares out at the street long after the tail lights from Cassie’s car have disappeared. Eventually, he signals the waitress to refill his coffee, pulls out his phone and texts Rachel the diner’s address.

His mind doesn’t wander while waits, not really, they trained him out of that real quick in Afghanistan, but it settles into an endless nothing, like staring at static on a broken TV. It’s the clank of his car keys dropping on the table that rouses him. Rachel sits opposite him where Cassie had sat before. Tim leans back in his seat and hands Rachel her keys in return.

“Picked up four idiots at the ER,” she tells him. “And they’re all securely handcuffed to their beds until they stop vomiting. I think Art’s as mollified as we can hope for.”

Tim smiles at that and then again a little wider when the waitress makes her rounds, causing Rachel to grimace at the burnt taste of the terrible coffee. 

She’s still frowning when she asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He thinks about it, his hands restless. It takes a moment to realize he’s swilling the dregs in his cup just as Cassie had done. He forces his hands still. 

“Not right now,” Tim tells her, looking up to meet Rachel’s uncompromising gaze. It’s enough, for now that she’s here. That she’ll still be here in the morning.

Rachel nods, takes another sip and clearly regrets it. “Well, when you do, can we at least go some place with better coffee?”


End file.
